they said he never wore gloves
even on the coldest days of winter
that he worked the reins of his team
in sub below weather
back and forth with loads of grain
they swore that it was true

they said that he always won the competition
of carrying grain sacks up a set of stairs
and that afterwards everyone wanted to fight him
he would drink for days
leaving my father to sleep under the wagon
they said he never lost a fight

they said he never trusted banks
and he kept his money hidden in his mattress
and when the banks failed
he had the cash to buy up all the homesteads
that had become broken dreams

they said he was a tough old Frenchman
who harnessed the hills
and built a small empire
he fathered thirteen children
and built a modern home in town
when he could no longer bend the land
to his will

I just know that he cut deep wounds
into my father’s heart
and my father in turn
cut them in me

perhaps it is why I never had children